


i was dancing with a wooden puppet of you

by Buttercup_ghost



Series: they were pretty words, but didn’t mean a thing [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Basically everything sucks!, Cheating, Confusing, Dark, Despair Naegi Makoto, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Identity, Lowercase, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Sexual Abuse, Stream of Consciousness, This really won’t make sense bUT, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Universe Alteration, dark kyoko kirigiri, unsure if I should even post this if I’m honest but yolo I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-11-20 23:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18133925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: purposely mistaken it, that day won’t ever arrivecollapse, diverge, disengage; it all crumbles to dustthere’s no salvation in my reach or in your holdi know this, yet still, i recall the cruel ‘you.’~komaru naegi’s mouth is full of metal. kyouko tastes like rust when she kisses her.





	1. knee socks

**Author's Note:** **Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you were kissing to cut through the gloom,_   
>    
>  _with a cough drop coloured tongue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big warnings for sexual abuse, emotional manipulation and cheating, it’s bad harold

hell is cold.

hell is cold, full of ice and stone. hell isn’t fury, but emptiness. it’s full of whites and blues, full of purple skylines and dull, gem-like eyes. beautiful, but cold. 

there is no fire, no warmth. the closest thing is the honey in your ears, the sweet nothings whispered to you, so fake, like water frozen. hell is a lake full of fishes, dead, and suspended in time.

hell is cold, but safe looking. you don’t realize the ice is white and cracking under you, until there’s water in your lungs, and you can’t breathe, trapped under the surface with the fishes that have freezed.

hell doesn’t burn, but soothes your wounds, wraps them with chains, to stop the bleeding. hell is alluring, with gentle colors, and even gentler promises. many a man have fallen for the temptation of hell’s water, not knowing that hell was a siren looking to make you drown in the icy depths.

hell didn’t look like hell, but like heaven, until you got up close.

and by then, it was already too late.

 

* * *

 

 

komaru naegi loved her brother.

that was a fundamental truth of life, the one thing she could cling to through the monotone days where she lived in a cage. she remembers the bars on her windows, remembers that apartment that provided her with everything she needed but freedom, and it tastes of metal. cold, sterile metal, so close to the taste of blood. blood in her mouth, blood in her heart, red and warm and passionate, so different from its cold, cold twin. komaru would rather spit up blood than metal, any day. but they both taste of the same rust.

the thoughts of him, the memories of brighter days, got her through the worse days. she remembers his bright, warm smile, remembers his shy ones, remembers how his eyes shined with love, and hope, no matter the sheepish mannerisms that plagued him like a ghost you couldn’t shake. the memory of him was warm, where everything else there was cold.

and then she escaped her cage, and came across a world burning, her own brother a part of the epicenter—his warmth twisted into a heat she didn’t know if she could stand.

but komaru naegi still loved her brother, no less. even if she shouldn’t, komaru knows she loves her brother more than this world of collateral. 

 

* * *

 

when monaka offers her a thrown, built of skeletons and dead things, crafted by junko enoshima herself, for a second, komaru considers it.

to burn with her brother on top of a world screaming.

 

* * *

 

 

(but it in the end, it’s not junko, not monaka, not even her brother that makes her despair, not really. it’s someone else, the color of lilacs.)

 

* * *

 

 

it was supposed to be salvation, but it just became another despair. it was supposed to save him, but all it does is make them all _drown_.

komaru was supposed to be free. komaru was supposed to be warm.

kyouko puts her hand on her shoulder, an imitation of kindness. the leather masks her cold hands, the hands that were burned so badly they became frozen in retaliation, cold and dry, cracked and calloused. komaru turns towards her, and those leather gloves drift down to her fingers, tangling itself up in them. kyouko pulls her away in a mockery of comfort.

she goes without resistance, and hates herself for it.

 

* * *

 

 

her brothers girlfriend kisses her, as liquid falls from her eyes, siliva dripping between them, connecting them. it feels like a noose, sitting heavy around her neck. kyouko smiles at her sweetly, and everything in her tells her to **run**.

she doesn’t. instead, she lets her put cold, cold chains around her wrists. instead, she lets her place a collar on her neck, metal clinking upon her skin, friction that leaves marks, like the hickies on both their necks. she lets her loop in a leash of leather, connected to her wrists, to her gloves. she lets her hold it in her hands, like an owner trapping her pet.

komaru knows she’s not free. she has never been free since she woke up in that apartment.

 

* * *

 

 

”stop,” she says, but kyouko doesn’t listen. her lips on her neck are like dry ice, sucking out the warmth from her very skin, smiling softly as the girl under her shivered. in a different light, she could mistake it for something like fondness, or affection, the way her lips creased up, and her purple orbs seemed to soften. but she knows better.

“i don’t want this,” it’s a plea, desperate, even as she grinds against her thighs. kyouko chuckles in response, to her actions and her words, low and deep, a smirk playing on her lips. “you don’t want me to stop, not really,” she says, smug, seeing through her lies, because of course she does. she’s a detective, after all. “you like this, and your body agrees.”

she says it, and it sounds so matter a fact, so reasonable, from her mouth. kyouko smirks, like she’s won something, before she presses her fingers against her underwear. they come back wet, and her smile grows as she brings them to her lips, as if to prove something. the order is silent, but there, as her slicked fingers pressed against her mouth, gentle and waiting, expectant. 

“this is wrong,” komaru sobs, despair in her eyes and hate in her heart. hate in her heart as she loves this woman in front of her, no matter if she really shouldn’t. because there’s so many reasons why she really shouldn’t, and the hate only grows inward, for not putting a stop to it, for not listening to everything in her saying _ **do not do this**_. “this is wrong.” 

even as she cries, komaru does nothing to push kyouko away. she never does.

instead, she does what she’s told, and _licks_.

it tastes like metal.

 

* * *

 

 

when makoto wakes up, kyoko goes to his pod, holding her hand out to him with a small smile. it’s a smile komaru has never seen directed at her, and she knows that love doesn’t exist between her and kyouko. she’s known ever since she ran her fingers through her short, brown hair, voice distant. “you look so much like him,” she said, and komaru knew. 

that day, moments before, when she moaned out her brothers name as they kissed desperately, komaru knew.

komaru naegi was a replacement.

 

* * *

 

 

even when kyouko and him kissed, as she stared from the background, forgotten and unimportant— _even as her heart shattered to pieces_ —komaru still loved her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dark kyouko please leave me the fuck alone
> 
> here’s some playlists for this canon:
> 
> 1\. https://playmoss.com/en/junkfuck/playlist/exposure
> 
> 2\. https://playmoss.com/en/junkfuck/playlist/i-was-dancing-with-a-wooden-puppet-of-you


	2. mrs. brightside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _it started off with a kiss, how did it end off like this?_  
>     
>  _it was only a kiss._  
>   
>  _ **it was only a kiss.**_  
> 

she didn’t know at first.

when they first kissed, when _she_ first kissed, she didn’t know. she didn’t know that this girl she loved was in love with someone else. in love with _him_.

she didn’t know until their third kiss, passionate and heated, and she moaned out his name like a prayer. she didn’t know until she took a second one of her ‘firsts’, in life. she didn’t know until her hands tangled in her hair after the fact, the words falling off her tongue like dew drops.

she never thought being compared to her brother would make her so sick, before.

 

* * *

 

she’s happy for them. she’s happy for her brother, happy that he’s getting better. because she thinks he’s getting better—although the grey that seems to outline him now makes it hard to tell. but she loves him, and he loves her, and komaru loves her brother so she does nothing.

but her brother isn’t makoto naegi anymore. even with recovery, he’ll never be that boy again.

thats okay, though. komaru naegi loves her brother, even if he changes, even if it’s not the same. because her brother has always been more than makoto naegi, to her, and nothing would ever change that. even if it hurt. even if a part of her grieved the memory of the smiling kid he used to be.

it’s okay, because komaru isn’t who she used to be either. it’s okay, because she’s mourning both of their pasts, anyways. it’s okay because he’s _still here_.

it didn’t matter if he changed, if he wasn’t makoto naegi anymore, because he was still her brother.

even if she missed makoto sometimes, she still loves the brother she has. and all she wants is him to smile again, true and happily.

so she doesn’t tell him about kyouko, and she doesn’t show how much she hurts.

he’s more important. he always had been.

 

* * *

 

 

touko is worried. touko is worried about her, because her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and she always wakes up crying. she’s worried because she pukes after laughing and making excuses to leave to the bathroom when kyoko and her brothers lips met. she’s worried because she walked past their door, opened just a crack, and heard, and looked, and saw, and _couldn’t look away._ she’s worriedbecause her eyes never light up anymore.

komaru doesn’t want them to worry. komaru doesn’t want them to care. to look at her with questioning eyes and concerned frowns, to ask and pled _komaru please just tell me what’s wrong—_

she doesn’t want to tell her what’s wrong.

she doesn’t want to tell her she misses the sting of her brothers girlfriends nails, raking down her back until she pleads for her to stop, stop, stop. she doesn’t want to tell her that she’s afraid.

because what does she have to be afraid of? what right did she have to be afraid? what right did she have to want, to want, to **want** —

she wants to hate them. wants to blame them and scream and cry and mourn a love that was never hers, a girl who was never hers. she wants to feel the sting of her knees against the carpet as she kneels, wants to feel her head under her feet as she stands above her. she wants so many things that don’t make sense, will never make sense, forever contradicting. she wants to have never met her. she wants to kiss her with vigor as they declare they’re each other’s in the pounding rain. she wants a romance that’s sweet instead of bitter.

she wants her brother to hold her as if they were still little kids, wants him to tuck her face against his chest and promise her that she’s safe, that he’ll keep her safe, that he’ll stop her from hurting her again and again and again.

she wants her to hurt her again and again and again.

and the taste on her tongue—the metal and asphalt and blood and rust and iron, the dust and the sand and the cold sting of a blade in her mouth—it’s such a familiar taste, only stronger, more potent, more real and there than anything else she’s had before, and she realize what this red and grey and black and white means, what it symbolizes, she realizes why it’s so familiar.

this is the feeling of despair, more complete and whole than anything she had ever felt before.

a part of her likes the black tenderls, pulling her down to an inky, black abyss. the rest of her is disgusted. the rest of her is scared.

she understands junko more than she wishes.

she **hates** junko more than she wishes.

 

* * *

 

_(“so junko destroyed the world, for despair?” she asked, playing with toukos hair. “yeah,” she scoffs, “some crazy reason to ruin so many lives, huh?”_

_komaru hummed, eyebrows furrowing, looking far off into the distance. “it must have been lonely.”_

_touko looks at her with confusion, and she sighs._

_“her life must have been very lonely, to make her hate the world, and love her own misery.”_

_touko hums at that, something unreadable on her face._

_“maybe.”)_

* * *

 

 

people have always said she’s a bleeding heart. people have always said she cried too easily, smiled too brightly. she felt her emotions, too much, until she drowned in them. people said it was a good quality, to feel.

it wasn’t a good quality.

there was too much there, words and reasons and emotions, static in her mind. there was a hopelessness there, the inability to sort through it all. it made her freeze. it made her despair.

it plagued her during towa, the fear, the loss, everything pushing down on her chest oppressively. she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. there was so many facets, so many sides, so many things to consider but all she could do was _feel_.

feel for the people who lost their lives. feel for the people still running and hiding. feel for the people uncertain if their family is still alive. feel for herself, for her family, revel in the worry clogging up her heart. feel for these children, hurt and bitter and jaded and _scared_ , twisted by the world, by people. and she hated them, those children, who took out their hate and pain and anger on the world they feel betrayed them, these people who are innocent and dying by their hands. but even that hate was wrapped in pity, in sympathy and empathy and a bone deep _despair_ , because these are the children that society failed, and she couldn’t save them, not really, she couldn’t undo all the hurt they went through or the pain they caused. she couldn’t heal their injuries and scars and she couldn’t wash the blood from their hands.

so all she felt was angry. angry and hurt and hopeless and bitter, just like them. just like them, because a part of her wanted to make them bleed, for hurting these people, these people who have done nothing wrong. because a part of her wanted to find, to hunt down the people who hurt these children, _who made them into these things_ , and make them wish they were never born.

and she hurt. and she hurt because she felt too much and loved too much and hated too much. she hurt because she wanted a happy ending.

she hurt because even when the story was tragic, she couldn’t look away. she wouldn’t let herself.

 

* * *

 

her brother deserves happiness.

it tears her apart. she can’t sleep. these dark, ugly feelings in her whisper lies into her honey coated ears. and she hates it. hates herself for the part of her that’s bitter, that’s spiteful, that’s hurt and crying out and wanting, wanting to hate. hate them both for hurting her like this. but she could never hate them, not really, so instead she just hates herself.

her brother deserves happiness.

after everything that happened, everything he’s been through, he deserves to be happy. to smile and laugh and love, to feel joy and contentment and peace. she wants that for him. she won’t let herself ruin that, she won’t let her shatter the fragile glass happiness he’s found.

she won’t tell him. she won’t tell him about the hurt and pain and love and hate. 

her brother deserves happiness.

she doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

kyouko never loved her. she knows that. she only ever loved her brothers after image. so she shouldn’t let herself be hurt, or bitter. she knows she’s hurt, knows it’s hard on her. what’s happening, it’s hard on everyone. it’s hard on her brother, and it’s hard on kyouko. komaru doesn’t want to make it any harder. they’re both going through things, in the midst of all this.

so komaru doesn’t want to ruin the semblance of peace they have. she just grins and bears it all, instead. she just smiles and wishes. wishes for something she doesn’t even know, she doesn’t even know what she wants. 

kyouko loves her brother. she’s just going through a lot. that’s why, that’s why. it wasn’t her fault. she just missed him, she was just worried and conflicted and in pain. she didn’t know if he’d ever come back. she didn’t mean it. it was a mistake.

she was a mistake.

she knows kyouko loves her brother. she knows kyouko never loved her. she won’t hurt him. she won’t. she won’t.

but no matter what komaru told herself, there was still something ugly clawing at her heart.

 

* * *

 

when they fight, when she breaks him, when she goes too far, komaru thinks she realized something.

kyouko was never in love with her brother. 

not this one.

she was only ever in love with “makoto naegi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> already posting the second chapter? More likely than ud think


End file.
